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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161075">unwanted cats</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton'>Areiton</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, James "Rhodey" Rhodes &amp; Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes &amp; Tony Stark at MIT, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, MIT Era, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Protective Jarvis (Iron Man movies), That's it, This is an epic love song to my fav friendship in the MCU, handwavy legal issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:15:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He can see the light in their shitty kitchen gleaming, and he moves, suddenly, scrambling out of the car and into the slushy snow before Jarvis even parks, stumbling when the still moving door catches his hip.<br/>He's so close, now, and the whole world is shaking, but Rhodey--<br/>Rhodey <i>never</i> shakes. </p>
<p>
  <b>Or<br/>Howard and Maria die when and 15-year-old Tony's world falls apart and Rhodey puts him back together.</b>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Rhodey" Rhodes &amp; Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>IronHusbands</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Pre-Dawn Deliveries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627515">Guardian</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/arianapeterson19/pseuds/arianapeterson19">arianapeterson19</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The other day I read a fic--Guardian--and I loved the premise. I loved the little fic. And I wanted to play with the idea, see how it would play out. <br/>This is me playing in that sandbox. </p>
<p>This is fully plotted and will update once or twice a week.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Pre-Dawn Deliveries </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis found him in his workshop, where he was lecturing DUM-E about workplace safety, and the sight would normally string a smile across the old butler’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tonight, he’s pale, all white faced and shaking, and it makes Tony pause in the middle of his ramble to frown at the old man. “Jarvis? I thought you went to bed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anthony,” Jarvis says and Tony straightens. There’s something in Jarvis’ voice that makes him want to crumble and hide, something broken and sad that he doesn’t want to poke, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to poke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Young sir, if you would be so good as to prepare a bag. We need to leave the Mansion." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony inhales, and he opens his mouth, to ask--to demand, something he hasn't done with Jarvis in *years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Please, sir," Jarvis says, and his voice catches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Tony says, an easy capitulation. He glances around the 'shop. "Uh, will--" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You have time to close up your projects," Jarvis says. "And I will, of course, ensure nothing is disturbed." Tony turns that over in his head. Turns over what Jarvis isn't saying, and fear settles, heavy, in his belly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes up his coding program, locking it away behind layers of encryption and passwords with a few quick keystrokes, tosses his notebook and a couple prototypes he refuses to leave behind in a bag he keeps just for that reason, and leads DUM-E to his charging station. "You be good," he murmurs, leaning down and plugging the bot into his power source. He gets a cheery beep that is out of place in the quiet and Jarvis' waiting tension, and it hurts, a little, to power him down, to turn away from him. Jarvis is waiting, almost vibrating with impatience. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He'll be safe, sir," Jarvis says, softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can be ready in ten minutes," Tony says, and Jarvis nods. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The safe in Sir's office is easy enough to open. He's used young sir's birthday as his keycode for almost as long as Jarvis has known him, and Mistress' birthday before that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dimly, Jarvis wonders if today will become Anthony's keycode in the future, and his stomach turns, unpleasantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The papers are there--the same place Sir leaves all his paperwork that he hasn't bothered to hand over to SI's formidable legal team. For the first time since that night three months ago--Jarvis is glad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glad that Anthony was  never the first priority that Sir had, glad that he was too drunk to listen or care--fiercely, wildly </span>
  <em>
    <span>glad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A noise in the house, Anthony cursing, startles him from his thoughts and he slips the papers, neatly folded and sealed in an envelope bearing Sir's wax seal--a silly and outdated affection that he's oddly gratefully for now--into his breast pocket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anthony is standing by the stairs with a duffel at his feet, and a wide eyed, scared expression on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you ready, young sir?" Jarvis asks, and Anthony smiles, quick and small and fake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, J. Let's go." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The car is quiet, the only sound the thrum of the tires on the road and the steady swish of the wipers pushing the snow away. It's dark and late, or early--Tony glances blearily at the clock. Early. Christ. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares out the window for a long time and then, "Where are we going, Jarvis?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Cambridge," he says, and Tony shifts, twists to look at his lifelong friend, the man who raised him when his own father couldn't or wouldn't. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis is pale faced, still, his knuckles white on the steering wheel and he doesn't look away from the road when he says, softly, "I know about Sir's will, Anthony." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His gut lurches, and he almost throws up, the bitter coffee and sludgy smoothie he swallowed hours ago twisting in his belly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's why--we have to go to Master Rhodes." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jar-" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mr. Stane," Jarvis says, carefully, and Tony flinches despite himself, "was not informed, yet. And he doesn't know the will had been changed. I--if there was more time, Anthony--" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's fine," he says, distantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis feels distant--the words he's saying and the road, the leather seat under him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jarvis is watching him, that there's worry creasing his old friend's face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows, too, that his parents are dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis hasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> it yet, but it's the only reason he'd be rushing Tony to Rhodey under the cover of darkness, before Stane could stop him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shivers, curls deeper into the seat and his coat. Jarvis makes a noise, quiet distress and reaches into the backseat, procuring one of Mama's endless blankets, draping it over Tony in awkward little jerks. It still smells like her, like lilies and Chanel, and red wine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He inhales the scent of it, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mama</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and blinks back his tears as they drive through the dark. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The further they go, the more Jarvis relaxes. Not that he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> relaxed--there is the distinct possibility that Stane will fly to Cambridge, rather than drive. He spends most of the drive praying that the man will have already left for California, that he will be delayed by the holidays. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the drive he spends worrying, endlessly, about Anthony. He's curled into a ball, impossibly small in the passenger seat. He's too small for a boy his age,and right now, he looks even younger than his fifteen years, a slight figure that he wants, desperately, to protect from the world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Would you like to stop for breakfast or coffee, sir?" Jarvis asks, once and Tony shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I just--can we go to Rhodey?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sounds broken, tiny, pleading. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis nods, and keeps driving. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's near dawn, when they pull up to the familiar apartment complex, the one that Rhodey picked because he could afford it and it was close enough to campus to walk. The stairs smell like cat piss and cigarettes, but it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rhodey</span>
  </em>
  <span> is </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can see the light in their shitty kitchen gleaming, and he moves, suddenly, scrambling out of the car and into the slushy snow before Jarvis even parks, stumbling when the still moving door catches his hip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can hear Jarvis shouting after him, but he's so close, now, and the whole world is shaking, but Rhodey--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>shakes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slams into the door and beats at it, a hysterical noise clawing at his throat, and he doesn't have his goddamn keys, why the hell did--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door swings open and Rhodey is there, wide eyed and scowling, a scowl that bleeds into shock and concern and Tony--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony falls into him and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shatters</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is a baby billionaire curled up in his lap, and an old English butler making muffins in his shitty kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would startle him more if he weren’t intimately aware of how life with Tony Stark never went according to plan, how it was always a brilliant surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not crying now, which Rhodey is going to take as a small victory. But his breathing is still sharp and fast, his hands fisted in Rhodey’s sleep shirt, a tight clinging ball of shivering insecurities. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony should never be insecure with him. It’s so very </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> that it makes his teeth grit, and his arms, banded around his brother, tighten a little, until Tony squeaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, kid,” he mutters, and Tony makes a small noise into his collarbone. He’s hiding, shy, uncertain, and Rhodey--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey has spent the past year and a half learning how to charm and coax and badger Tony Stark. Into sleeping and eating and going to class, into taking off his damn media  mask and giving up his secrets and </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusting</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rhodey to catch him when he stumbled. This--this boy who is shivering, face pressed to Rhodey’s tear soaked shirt--he knows exactly what to do with this boy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanna get a shower, kola-cub? It’ll get you warm, and then I’ll make you some of Mama’s biscuits?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony hiccups against his shirt and says, “You’re cheating.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey grins and brushes a kiss into Tony’s fluffy hair. “Yup. Go on. Get some of my sweats outta my hamper.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony curls tighter for a second, and then relents, sliding boneless from Rhodey’s lap and retreating, not sparing a look for Jarvis or Rhodey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waits, listening for the sound of the rusty pipes, for the squeak of the bathroom door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then--finally--he looks at Jarvis, all softness and warmth wiped away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusts</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jarvis is the thing, more than any of the other people in Tony’s life--far more than he trusts Howard fucking Stark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the fact remains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span> appeared on his goddamn doorstep, snow soaked and </span>
  <em>
    <span>sobbing</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Jarvis, a few steps behind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jarvis,” Rhodey snarls, and it’s not a question, it’s a demand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s an order. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis merely arches an eyebrow. “Master Rhodes, if you’d be so good as to sit down. This next bit may come as a shock.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitates. Jarvis's shoulders droop and he says, softly, "Please, James." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusts</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jarvis. He does. Jarvis is the one who came first, the one who loved Tony and protected him, before Rhodey knew him, before Rhodey </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He's the one who held Tony when he was a child, who cleaned him up and fed him and shielded him from Howard Stark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he is standing in Rhodey's kitchen, and Tony's tears are still wet on his shirt--but he brought Tony here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brought Tony </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis sighs, and comes to sit across from him. "Howard and Maria were found dead last night, from a car accident," he says, bluntly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" Rhodey spits, and lurches a little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sir, there's more, I need you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Jarvis says sharply but Rhodey snarls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You listen. You fucking listen, Jarvis, you brought him to me, and you didn't--you let me send him into the other room, like I don't want him, like--" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He doesn't think that," Jarvis snaps. "You are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing Master Anthony trusts, he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words settle in his gut, a warm little nugget of reassurance and he relaxes, just a little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is that why you brought him here?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis hesitates. "The next few days will be very difficult, Mr. Rhodes. Sir will need a friend. He'll need </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey glances at him and Jarvis' eyes are fixed, bright and intent and his stomach turns, unpleasantly. "I'm not going anywhere." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you mean to--" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The white noise of the shower is cut by the squeak of his mattress and Rhodey turns away. Jarvis will wait, whatever the hell he isn't saying outright. His priority is the boy in the other room, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>orphan</span>
  </em>
  <span>, jesus fucking christ. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slips into the darkened bedroom, eyes adjusting easily to find the familiar lump of Tony in the pile of his blankets. For a heartbeat he considers coaxing the boy out of bed, but it's discarded by a near silent sniffle and Rhodey crawls into the bed, curling up next to Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The younger boy twists, dark eyes gleaming up at him. "Did J tell you?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, kiddo, he did," Rhodey says softly. "I am so sorry, Tones." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony blinks, hard, and Rhodey's heart twists, a painful lurch, as he gathers his best friend into his arms. "I'm right here, ok? I'm not going anywhere." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony makes this noise, all shattered relief, and he curls into Rhodey, burrows tight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is gonna be a nightmare, Rhodey thinks. The funeral alone would be a media circus. And what--what would happen to Tony? What would happen to SI? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes his eyes and tightens his grip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony was fourteen when Rhodey met him, fourteen and gangly and awkward, out of place and shy. Anxious. He'd blossomed, bloomed under Rhodey's friendship and the freedom of MIT--and he didn't want to see that shattered. He didn't want to see Tony pulled away and shunted off to be cared for by Obadiah Stane or some money hungry relative who didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span> about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mama," Tony whispers, jerk Rhodey's thoughts back to him. "Mama asked me to go with them. I was working' on DUM-E and I didn't wanna stop and--" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tones, don't do that," Rhodey croons. "C'mon, you--you went with them, what changes, huh? You think she'd want you to have been in the car with her? That's not the answer, kid." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But I'd be with them," Tony says, small and wet. "I wouldn't be </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You aren't," Rhodey answers. "You aren't alone, Tony. I'm right here." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony is shaking, trembling sobs that aren't stopping, and Rhodey--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey tightens his arms around Tony and holds on, holds him together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cats and Wills</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Sir,” Jarvis says, softly. Tony shifts in his arms and Rhodey tightens them, stifling the urge to twist and glare at the old man. “I am sorry, Sirs. We must decide what our next steps are.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give us five minutes,” Tony says, that strange cadence and tone he always uses when he’s Tony Stark, and not just Tones. It’s vaguely unsettling, but it makes Jarvis relax, makes him step away and out of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is gonna suck,” Tony says, soft, and he sounds exactly as young as he is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It will,” Rhodey allows, squeezing him close and Tony makes a small noise, plaintive. “But we’ll get through it. Ok? Together.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony nods, and takes a deep breath. Rhodey releases him and Tony slips out of the bed, padding to the living room. His shoulders go back and stiffen, just a little, enough that Rhodey notices, but not drastic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not enough to make Rhodey's hackles rise. He shifts and follows Tony out of the bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis has made breakfast, cheesy eggs and crumbly scones, and a full pot of black coffee and Tony sits down, reaching for it with the eager hands of an addict. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What do you want to do next, Mr. Rhodes?" Jarvis asks, and Rhodey pauses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arches an eyebrow at the older man. "Shouldn't that be Tony's call?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis makes a small, displeased face. "If he were a bit older. As it stands, with you as his guardian, your wishes supersede Sir's." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"As his what now?" Rhodey asks, and the whole room kind of stutter stops. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The coffee in Tony's hand wobbles, dangerously, and Rhodey reaches out, rights it with familiar ease as Tony let's it drop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You--you said he told you," Tony stutters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You didn't tell him?" Jarvis demands, at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He said </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> told him!" Tony shouts, and Jarvis makes a displeased noise that grates. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why don't you </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell me?" Rhodey suggests, and his voice is very even. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That, he thinks, distantly, is a neat trick. It brings Tony to a screeching halt. He doesn't think he's ever been able to manage that before in his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He arches an eyebrow as they stare at him, and Tony kind wilts, drooping in his chair and dragging his coffee closer to him like a shield. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It breaks his heart all over again and it's only a considerable force of will that keeps him from reaching for the kid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jarvis," Tony mumbles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If you eat, Sir," Jarvis bargains, and this is why Rhodey likes Jarvis. Because he cares about Tony, his worry creasing into a fond smile as Tony sulkily pulls his eggs closer to him and begins to pick at it through his scowl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the old man looks at Rhodey. "Sir's father has always wanted Sir to create for him. For Stark Industries." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey nods, "Yeah but Tony doesn't want that. He's been pushing the old man off for years." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Six months ago, Sir offered to give his father a design every two months, in exchange for changing his will." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey glances at Tony. He's glaring at his eggs, his cheeks bright red and stubbornly refusing to look up. "How long did the terms last?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Until Sir is eighteen," Jarvis says, softly. "I assume you were not told of Sir's bargain." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey snorts, and Tony's shoulders hunch even more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's why you came here--but," he frowns, abruptly. "I thought his godfather would get guardianship, if anything ever happened." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony stands abruptly, and Rhodey reaches out, snags his wrist as his friend starts to bolt and it brings Tony to a stop. "Why don't you want Stane?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony looks at him, eyes big and scared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anthony,” Jarvis breathes and Tony jerks away. Stumbles back a step or two, is glare quelling Jarvis and Rhodey both. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you don’t want me,” Tony says, stiffly, “you’re not obligated, you don’t have--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut the hell up,” Rhodey says, testily and Jarvis makes a noise, affronted, but his gaze is trained on Tony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony who is stiff and trembling, anger a thin veneer,one wrong word from bolting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jarvis, would you give Tony and I a moment?” he asks. He glances at the older man when he hesitates, a split second gaze and whatever Jarvis sees, it makes him stand and retreat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony doesn’t move. Rhodey doesn’t take his gaze off his best friend. Neither of them speak, not until the door closes behind Jarvis and the apartment settles into silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Tony slumps, a little and says, tiredly. “You don’t have to do this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you should know by now I don’t do much I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s lips thin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did something you swore you wouldn’t, to get away from Stane,” Rhodey says, softly, “And I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Do I need to know?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Stane--he won’t loose control of SI until I turn twenty-one. As long as we don’t fight him on that, he won’t fight for me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if he does?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he does,” Tony says, short and angry, “it won’t matter. He’ll win.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he does, you’ll tell me,” Rhodey says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony falters. “You--you’d fight for me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey rolls his eyes, and stands to drag Tony into his arms. “I’ve been fightin’ for you since I dragged you home last year. Not gonna stop now, kola.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony kind of shudders, and makes a quiet noise, half sob, but it’s relieved, different from the shattered sobs when he first arrived, or the broken hearted crying in his bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t--you won’t get anything for this,” Tony mumbles into his shirt. “I still have my stipend to live on, and I draw a salary because of my work in R&amp;D--but it’s not like, keys to the kingdom. I won’t get that until I turn twenty-one.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never been your friend for your money, Tones,” Rhodey says, biting back his irritation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony expression softens. “No,” he agrees. “You never have. But, honeybear, this is different. This is--I don’t want to ruin what we have because I’m your responsibility.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You won’t.” Rhodey says, “You’re a handful, Tones, but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>handful. You’re like--you’re like this cat Jenny adopted when we were in high school. Demanding and bitchy but sweet too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you didn’t ask for a cat. I’m like an unwanted cat,” Tony says. “And I’m a lot bitchier than I am sweet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey shrugs. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> cat, Tones.”  Like it’s simple. “And this--this is going to be hell, even if Stane doesn’t fight for you. But you’re still mine, and we’re gonna do this, together. Ok?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony smiles, and it’s small, scared, but real. “Ok.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He holds it together until Jarvis is dozing on the couch, the night’s exhaustion tugging him down now that there is no food to cook, now that Tony is snoring in Rhodey’s bed and the immediate danger is past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds it together until they’re asleep and then he locks himself into Tony’s bedroom and goes to pieces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crumples to the floor and wedges himself into the corner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>plan</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was a good plan, it was gonna put him in a fighter plane and the Pentagon, and he was gonna do what no one in his family had ever done--he was gonna get </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of Philly, out of poverty, out of the cycle of factory jobs that killed his daddy's dreams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was gonna race across the blue and serve his country as  more than just a grunt, was gonna do what Rhodes men did best, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>plan</span>
  </em>
  <span>, goddammit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His plan was meticulous, and allowed for every variable, every possible fuck-up that could derail his path to the Pentagon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It never once accounted for Tony fucking Stark, and even when Rhodey tried to make it--Tony did something absolutely batshit like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches for the phone and dials before he can talk himself out of it, because there are a few constants in his life--Tony and his perpetual insanity is one, and his mama has always been the other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jim?" she says, worried, because it's nine am on a Sunday and she should be walking out the door for church and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. "What's wrong, baby?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I think I'm gonna do something real stupid, Mama," he says and he hears her pause. Hears her say something to Jenny, followed by a flurry of noise that resolves into her breathing on the other end of the line and the clink of a spoon against porcelain. He hears the creak of the rickety chair around a scruffed table and then, "What are you gonna do, and why do it if you know it's stupid?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes his eyes and all he can see is Tony, red rimmed eyed and gritted jaw and he says, "Because I gotta. I--Tony needs me to." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hums, soft, and he waits. His family has been a little leery of the rich white boy who clung to Rhodey like a limpet, and he can't say he's expecting that to change now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is it the right thing to do?" she asks. "Sometimes people need somethin' and givin' it to them isn't the right thing." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods, presses the heel of his hand into his eye until he can see white spots dancing. "It is."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then stupid or not, you do it," she says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's gonna change things," he whispers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because this is the truth--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Changing things terrifies him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He's had a plan  since he was a little boy dreaming of flying and a cocky young thing convinced he could fly with Maverick, and he's got a plan still. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And every step along the way--his classes in high school, his summer jobs and volunteering and his enlistment and undergrad at the Academy, all of it has been part of the plan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony Stark wasn't. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony Stark was </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> part of the plan, but the kid was a tiny disaster with fluffy hair and a wide smile and he never looked at Rhodey like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> be a fighter pilot and an officer and sit in the Pentagon, one day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at Rhodey like all those things were forgone conclusions, like he was just waiting for the world to realize what he already knew about Rhodey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony, tiny and fierce and a pain in the ass, wasn't part of the plan. He was the only selfish thing Rhodey had ever done, the one deviance from his future that he allowed himself to indulge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now--this--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was going to blow his plan to hell and back, push him out of the officer program and the cockpit and every fucking thing he wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans his head back against the wall and Mama says, softly, "Plans change, sometimes, baby. You gotta decide if this thing with Tony is worth changing your plans for." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course he is,” Rhodey blurts, not bothering to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s known that since the first time Tony dragged him back to New York, back to the mausoleum that he called a home. It was all long empty halls and rooms so staged they didn’t hold an ounce of love, a museum piece and Rhodey was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, staring at it. Because he grew up in a house crowded with his sisters and his parents, too small and too loud and messy, with stains on the carpet and scuffs on the floorboards, and a threadbare chair they fought over every movie night, until Jenny learned to just plop in Rhodey’s lap, and curl up to watch in a giant puppy pile that spilled onto Josie, sitting on the floor by their feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony didn’t have that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had pristine halls and more money than god, and a mother who smiled at them, distant and reserved and perfect. He had a cold kiss pressed to his cheek and an order to dress for dinner before she moved past in a wave of expensive perfume and brandy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Maria was the warm, </span>
  <em>
    <span>loving</span>
  </em>
  <span> parent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony was brilliant and electrically alive, absurdly wealthy and utterly, heartbreakingly alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Momma, I can’t leave him alone. He’s got no one.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tuts, “He ain’t had </span>
  <em>
    <span>no one</span>
  </em>
  <span> since the day he met you.” She sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>proud.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Resigned and already tired--but proud, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know there’s gonna be a fight--he comes with too much for Stane not to fight for him,” Rhodey says, something he hasn’t voiced, not even in his head. Tony is hoping this will be easy--so is Jarvis. But Rhodey’s never had the option of looking at the best case scenario--no black man did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Momma says, “but good things are worth fighting for.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They get three hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey is asleep on the couch, the early morning and Tony’s storm of tears doing their part to drag him into a deep sleep. The shrill of his phone jerks him from his rest, pulls him to waking and the sound of Tony’s voice, soft and shaping his name like a question, jerks him back to reality. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches for the phone and beckons Tony closer as he answers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“James Rhodes?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman’s voice is brisk and professional, unfamiliar, but crisp with the nearness of </span>
  <em>
    <span>command</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he answers without thinking. “Yeah, that’s me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold please,” she says and something cold settles in his gut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Rhodes,” a booming voice comes over the phone and under his arm, Tony shudders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Stane,” Rhodey says, softly. “What can I do for you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate to bother you this early in the morning, my boy, but I’m afraid I’m worried about Tony. Have you seen him?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you worried about him? Did something happen?” Rhodey asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A family matter,” Stane says, easy, bright and warm. “But I need Tony to come home.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony called me a few days ago,” Rhodey says, strictly true. “Can’t say I’ve gotten any other calls though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a beat of silence and then, “You’ll let me know, if that changes. I’m staying at the Mansion, while we sort through this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. You let me know, too, if I can do anything.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, of course. You have a nice holiday, son.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hangs up abruptly, at odds with the warmth of his tone, and Rhodey clicks off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a long pulse of silence, and then Tony says, his voice shaking, “He knows. Oh, fuck. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The thing about having a genius billionaire show up in the early morning with his butler in tow and a shitton of baggage is--Rhodey doesn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> know what to do with that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows how to keep Tony safe on campus and in Cambridge, knows how to keep him functioning on not enough sleep and sober-ish at parties, and he knows how to handle his mood swings, especially when he comes home from New York and his big family mansion and all the shit that goes with it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn't know how to handle being told his best friend's legal guardian. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he does know how to handle the panic attack Tony is having in his living room so he throws a look at Jarvis. "Call my ma. Speed dial 1. Tell her I need Aunt Kendra and her to come to the house." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he turns all his attention on Tony, panicking and unable to draw in a deep breath. Rhodey crouches in front of him and drags Tony's hand out of his hair, presses it to his chest so Tony can feel his heartbeat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Breath with me, kola," he murmurs, pitching his voice low and soothing and Tony looks at him, wide wet eyes and panic and he squeezes Tony's wrist. It's a bite of pain, but long practice tells him that a little bit will help ground him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mama told you about Aunty K, last time we visited, right? She's a big lawyer in Philly. She's gonna come up, ok, Tones? She's gonna come up here and she's gonna help us. I'm not gonna let Stane touch you. He's gonna know, that you're with me and that I'm your guardian--we gotta accept that we can't keep that from him. But knowing somethin' doesn't mean he can undo it or take you. I won’t let that happen." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rambles on, not really paying attention to where his mouth is running, only vaguely aware that Jarvis is talking into the phone and eventually hanging up, but his focus is on Tony, on the dazed tired look taking over the panic, the grief clouding up and pushed away, and he exhales slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has no idea how to do this, but it doesn't matter, because Tony needs him to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What are we gonna do?" Tony asks, finally, and Rhodey releases his wrist. Tomorrow there will b ea thin ring of bruises. He frowns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We're gonna wait for my aunt. And we're gonna get a press release ready--you're the heir to Stark Industries, and whatever else we have to deal with--that's a big one. The more public we are about it, the less Stane has the grounds to fight us." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony blinks at him, startled and Rhodey smirks. "Not just a pretty face, kiddo. C'mon. Get dressed and we'll get coffee and donuts and figure out what the hell we say to the press." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An hour later, with three and half cups of coffee and just as many donuts in him, Tony is almost vibrating in place, but he's not on the edge of collapse anymore, and he's arguing with Jarvis, a good natured bickering that leaves Rhodey relaxed in his chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We don't have to take out a page in the Times, sir," Jarvis says, exasperated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We do, actually," Tony rebutes, calmly. "They're gonna cover Dad, of course, because it's Howard Stark, and he's the face and name of SI, and that's a big deal--but someone needs to remember Mama." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis' frown, "Sir--" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's gonna look weird, if we don't," Tony says. "Her charities--the socialites. We can't not do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey sees the moment Jarvis relents. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moment Tony's voice breaks and catches, and goes little boy plaintive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So let's say something there. We're going to do a press release--if we make it about Maria, and only pepper in enough details about Tony and guardianship that it's public knowledge, it's better than coming out without that screen." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony's frowning, a deep set scowl, and he *knows how it sounds, what he's proposing. He reaches for Tony's hand. "Let her protect you this once more, Tones," he says, soft. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's not fair," Tony answers and Rhodey nods, because he isn't wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It *isn't fair. It's still the smart choice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sir," Jarvis says, softly, and Tony sighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Call Jan. She owes me a favor, and will know who we want to talk to." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis makes the phone calls, and Rhodey sits with Tony as they draft up a statement. Tony's quiet, emotionless, listing off the charities his mother supported or founded, his voice almost clinical, and Rhodey's hands trembled as he typed it up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes two hundred words, all told. Nothing, really, to tell the life of a woman who raised billions for impoverished children and domestic abuse survivors. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey doesn't let himself dwell on why those two causes were the ones close to her heart. Instead, he added the last little bit, the carefully crafted sentences about Tony, the ones that mattered most. Then he pushed the computer at Tony. "Sound good?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reads it again, and nods, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, and he nods. Every move he makes, it seems, ratchets him tighter, closer to breaking, and Rhodey--Rhodey is genuinely afraid of what will happen when he does. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He will. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows Tony well enough to know he *will. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushes that aside and sets the article to print, and then hands it off to Jarvis. "You good, man?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis smiles. "Of course, sir. I will return in two days. If you need anything--" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll be ok," Tony says, smiling brittle bright. "Rhodey won't let anything happen to me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis flicks a look at Rhodey, one that is sharp and warm, worried and calm all at once. "I know, sir." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony waits until he's in the car, and driving away before he says, "Jarvis never called me sir. Not once, in fifteen years. I was always Master Anthony or young sir." He looks up at Rhodey, his eyes wet and shining, "That was always dad." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bundles Tony into his duvet and tucks him into a corner of the couch, and then busies himself straightening up because Mama will be here, soon if all goes well, and he really doesn't want her finding his apartment looking like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finals week never leaves a good impression, but Mama probably wouldn't be understanding of the pile of dirty dishes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I should help," Tony says numbly from his blanket, and Rhodey snorts. Softly. Gently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can help," Tony says, indignantly, the first bit of emotion he's shown in hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You never help, kiddo," Rhodey says, affectionately, and Tony grumbles into his blanket, and curls even deeper, but there's a tiny curl of a smile on his lips and Rhodey thinks it's the nicest thing he's seen since Tony landed on his doorstep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s still sitting there, still looking adorable and petulant, when there’s a brusque knock on the door, and Rhodey rolls his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opens it to find his Mama waiting, all wrapped up in coats, and carrying a box of cookies, with his aunt on his heels, and he finally--</span>
  <em>
    <span>finally--</span>
  </em>
  <span>exhales. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re gonna be alright. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
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